


Roadtrip

by casey_writes_domestic_fluff



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brain Cancer, Brain Surgery, Bucket List, Cancer, Caretaking, Chemotherapy, Choose Your Own Ending, Colorblind GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Falling In Love, Fans, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Kissing, GeorgeNotFound Sees a Sunset, Hospitals, Hugs, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Long-Haired Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Road Trips, Sad Ending, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Songfic, Supportive Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Supportive fans, Sympathetic Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Twitter, kind of, that should be a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey_writes_domestic_fluff/pseuds/casey_writes_domestic_fluff
Summary: "Alright," Dream says, hopping up from the bed."Alright?""Let's go. Pack your shit.""Pack my—Dream, we can justleave—"Dream laughs, a mirthless thing. "Why not?"George fumbles for one of the million logical reasons why he can’t just “pack his shit.” "Because we have to get things in order! We have to make a video explaining what's going on and, and I have to see a lawyer and make a will and, and—""George. Stop it. I am not going to let you spend these next few months acting like you’re already dead. You’re alive. You’re here.""Dream,” George sighs. “I can't.""You can.” Dream’s tone leaves no room for argument. “We can. And we will. Pack your shit."- - -Or, the one where George is going to die, so Dream helps him live.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	1. guess we knew one day we would have to grow up

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory Disclaimer: Both Dream and George have publicly consented to slash fiction. If they ever change their mind, I will delete this work without hesitation. Other CCs mentioned in here have either consented to or have never spoken about their feelings toward SFW, non-shipping portrayals in fanworks, but if that changes, I will be more than happy to edit them out.  
> Additional Warning: This fic will contain medical trauma (emotional distress as a result of chronic/terminal illness). If this is triggering to any of the CCs involved, this will be edited/taken down immediately. I will do my best not to romanticise chronic/terminal illness, but this is a romance fic, so there may be some amount of romanticisation. I do not have a chronic illness, though my mother does, and I have also suffered longterm physical effects secondary to a severe e*ting d*soder, so I have a general sense of what it means to be chronically ill. Still, if anything in this book appears inaccurate or too romanticised, please do not hesitate to let me know. Enjoy <3

He’s on stream when he gets the call.  
“George!” Dream shouts. "I'm on stream right now, what's up?"   
“I need to talk to you.” George’s voice is like ice water washing over him. He sounds raspy, exhausted. He sounds like he’s been crying.  
Dream mutes his stream immediately. “Are you alright?” he asks.  
“No.” And with that one word, everything breaks.  
George sobs into the phone, rambling incoherently. Dream can only make out a few words. “George? Hey, slow down, buddy. Take a deep breath. Everything’s gonna be okay. Deep breaths, George, come on.” Dream takes deep, exaggerated breaths to demonstrate. This isn’t normal. Dream, he’s the anxious one, he’s the one that gets panic attacks. George is the strong one. George doesn’t cry. And he sure as hell doesn’t cry like _this_.  
“Everything isn’t okay, Dream!” George shouts. Softer, almost pathetically, he adds, “Everything is, like, the opposite of okay.”  
Dream tries to keep voice steady. “George, you’re scaring me. What happened? Was it something online? Did someone try to dox you or something?" “No,” George sobs. “No. It’s not… I don’t…” He keeps trailing off, like he can’t bear to get the words out.  
“George, just talk to me. Please. Tell me what happened.”  
Soft and shaky, George tries again, “I went to the doctor’s. For all those headaches I’ve been having lately.”  
Dream knows George has been getting a lot of headaches these past few months. Almost daily. Dream teased him that he was just spending too much time on his computer. _Oh god._  
“What did he say?” Dream whispers, like he can hide from the immensity of the answer.  
“I had to get an MRI and a head CT. And I’m going in for more testing next week.”  
“What did he say?” Dream demands.  
“Dream…” George breaks again, hysterical, inconsolable.  
Dream waits for him to calm down again, somehow crawling out of his skin with anticipation yet praying never to hear the end of that sentence. When George finally regains some semblance of control, Dream asks again, “What did he say, George?”  
Softer now, scratchy and worn-out, “It’s a tumour, Dream. I have cancer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I've decided to cause more pain :)) 
> 
> These first few chapters will be short because I'm trying to establish the premise. Next one is already written and should be up within the hour <33


	2. things change, I get it, 'cause nothing lasts, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream processes the news. He decides to support George the best way he knows how.

“That’s not possible,” Dream says, immediately. “You’re too young. That’s not possible.”  
George breaks again, worse than before, sobbing like a banshee.  
“George, stop it!” Dream yells, loud enough to shock George from his hysteria. “This isn’t funny.”  
“Dream, please. Stop,” George begs. “This isn’t a joke.”  
_This isn’t a joke._ Dream knows that. He knows that. But… “This isn’t a joke,” Dream repeats, robotic.  
“I have to go in for more testing next week. A biopsy to find out whether or not it’s malignant. It could be benign. It could be nothing to worry about at all,” George says, almost more to himself than to Dream.  
_Ten seconds.  
You get ten seconds to be sad, and scared, and pissed at god, and then you get your head out of your ass and comfort your friend.  
Okay._  
  
**10**  
_George has cancer._  
**9**  
_He could die._  
**8**  
_My best friend is going to die._  
**7**  
_No. He can’t die. He’s not allowed to._  
**6**  
_If he died, I think I would die, too._  
**5**  
_I need to be there with him. I need to hold him._  
**4**  
_I would do anything for him._  
**3**  
_Even pretend like my world isn’t crumbling down around me._  
**2**  
_He_ is _my world._  
**1**  
_And I_ won’t _let him crumble._  
  
Dream claps his hands together, cringing at the noise. He forces a level tone. “Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow.”  
“What?”  
“I’m gonna book a flight right now, and I’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon." He says it as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I’m not letting you go through this alone.”  
“Dream, I’m not going to make you fly all the way out here—”  
“George," Dream cuts in. "I’m going. No argument.”  
The line goes silent, and the most terrible thoughts course through Dream’s mind before George whispers, “Thank you.”  
“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me happy chemicals <333


	3. I sit and wait until the next song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan Twitter reacts to the phone call. Dream arrives in England.

True to his word, Dream is on a plane by three o’clock that morning. The only available seat was in first class, but Dream is too tense to enjoy the luxury. And when the flight attendant comes around with champagne, it’s the first time in Dream’s life that he thinks about accepting. He quickly decides against it, though. George needs him, all of him, fully present and ready to accept the weight of this on his shoulders.  
Dream shucks over the extra twenty for in-flight WiFi, terrified of missing a text from George. About an hour into the most claustrophobic night of his life, he makes the mistake of opening up Twitter. 

**#1 TRENDING  
#DNFBREAKUP  
Fans speculate about the relationship between Twitch streamers DreamWasTaken and GeorgeNotFound after a seemingly urgent call and subsequent end to stream.**

It shouldn’t piss him off. They don’t know any better.  
It does piss him off. There should be nothing better to know.  
Dream had ended the stream immediately after hanging up with George, claiming to have “some personal issues to deal with.” He had tried to muster up his usual peppy persona, but he could barely hold his voice steady.  
He clicks on the hashtag, surprised to find it to be mostly filled with supportive, non-invasive messages. 

**jay @jaymakesthingss • 3h  
nobody should have their personal life publicised like this. there is a reason that call was muted. do not make speculations about things you were not involved in. #DNFBreakUp **

**shay | dnf fan account @dreamluvsgogy • 1h  
look, I’m as big of a dnf stan as one can possibly be, but this was obviously a very personal moment. if they want us to know about whatever happened, they will talk to us.  
|  
Until then, let’s give them their privacy and show them to we can be respectful and mature. #DNFBreakUp **

**snowie (she/her) @gogynotgogged • 1h  
instead of speculating about people’s personal lives, let’s speculate on how FREAKING ADORABLE GOGY IS #DNFBreakUp  
[fancam] **

Dream smiles to himself. He shouldn’t have expected any less. The stans can be a little intense sometimes, for sure, but at the end of the day, the good will always outweigh the bad. 

**> george< what do you want to do about twitter  
**

**I mean, if it’s bothering you, we can make a statement, but honestly, I couldn’t possibly care less about it right now. bigger fish and all. >dream<  
**

**> george< I just don’t want don’t want people to think we’re fighting or anything. **

Dream smiles to himself. He’s become accustomed to George’s little ways of showing love. 

****

**six more hours. then we can deal with it together. >dream<  
**

**> george< ok  
**

**I love you >dream<  
**

**> george< idiot **

\- - - 

Six agonising hours later, Dream is on solid ground again, picking up what little luggage he had time to pack.  
He hears it behind him, no louder than a sigh. “Dream?”  
Dream had thought he’d have to force a smile for George, but the instant he hears that cautiously hopeful tone behind him, his entire face lights up.  
He turns around slowly, smile splitting his face in half. “It’s me.” It sounds so lame leaving his lips, but it’s enough. It’s always enough.  
George launches himself into Dream’s arms, standing on tip-toe to throw his arms around Dream’s neck. Dream hesitates, almost in shock. George isn’t affectionate, especially in public. He’s one of the most closed-off people Dream has ever met. But if this is what George needs right now, then who is he to argue?  
Dream wraps his arms around George’s waist. He feels small. Too small. Like he could break if Dream squeezed too tight. It almost makes Dream feel sick. He buries his face in George’s hair, drowning his fear in the lingering scent of fruity shampoo.  
_He’s here. He’s here. He’s here._  
When George finally pulls away—it had to be George. Dream would have stayed there for hours—he spends an infinite instant studying, for the first time, Dream’s tanned, freckled face.  
“You look good,” he mumbles, turning his gaze to his shoes to hide the warmth blossoming on his cheeks.  
Swallowing his anxiety at George’s first view of his face, Dream winks. “Not as good as you.” George just rolls his eyes. At least some things never change.  
“Let’s go home,” George says, wrapping his arm around Dream’s and leading him toward the exit.  
“I’m already there,” Dream purrs in his ear. And George just laughs and shoves Dream away.  
“You're such an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Twitter bit might not exactly be realistic--we're absolutely feral--but the fans are going to be playing a somewhat important role in this (especially the ending) so screw it. Also, this fandom is still one of the most respectful and kind that I've ever been in. The last fandom I was intensely involved in was the SPN fandom and.....well, let's just say that this fandom makes me feel really welcome :)) 
> 
> Comments give me happy chemicals <3333


	4. I lived when I was eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George finally receives a formal diagnosis, forcing him to withdraw even more than he already had been. Dream breaks.

The next month is a blur of biopsies and MRIs, but this appointment is different. Sat there in the office, hand in sweaty hand, Dream and George wait for the formal diagnosis.   
_It could be nothing to worry about at all._   
The doctor finally walks in, mouth pressed into a grim line.   
The tumour is malignant.   
A grade three anaplastic astrocytoma on his brain stem. Five point two centimetres. Incurable by any singular method.   
George’s surgeon wants to do an awake craniotomy to remove part of the tumour and implant Gliadel wafers, and then move on to targeted radiation therapy and Temodar. Even with all this, the five-year survival rate in George’s case would be less than four percent.   
George Davidson is dying.   
\- - -   
“George?”   
George snaps out of his daze at the tone of Dream’s voice. He’d clearly been talking about _it_ again, and clearly, George was supposed to be listening.   
“George, come on, man,” Dream groans. “I’m trying my best here but you have to give me something. Were you paying attention at all today?”   
“What does it matter? The surgeon knows what he’s doing. And if not, I’m dead anyway.”   
Dream stops cold and almost growls, “Don’t. Say. That.”   
“Why not? It’s the truth. I mean, you were paying better attention than I was, so you should know.” He says it like he’s talking about the weather. “I’m dying. I’m gonna die.”   
“No, you’re not,” Dream urges. “I’m not gonna let you.”   
George laughs coldly. “Well, sorry, Dream, but I don’t think whatever celestial motherfucker gave me cancer is really looking for your permission.”   
And with that, he storms into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He needs a nap.   
\- - -   
A hesitant banging on the bedroom door.   
“George? I’m ordering food. What do you want?”   
George just groans and digs his face further into the blankets.   
“George? Wake up, man. It’s time for dinner.”   
“I’m not hungry,” he calls through the door.   
“Too bad. You have to eat.”   
“No, I don’t. I’ll just throw it up anyway.” He doesn’t hear footsteps leading away from his door, so he adds, “I’m tired. Leave me alone.”   
“How can you be tired?” Dream laughs, but it’s a desperate, sickly sort of thing. “You sleep like fourteen hours a day.”   
“Yeah, well, I have cancer, so.” George cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth, knowing they were harsher than he had intended them to be.   
Silence on the other side of the door.   
And then banging once more. Harder, louder this time. Hurt. Pissed.   
“George, open the goddamn door right fucking now or I swear to god, I will break it down!”   
George slips resentfully from the warm, judgment-free embrace of his blankets. He opens the door mid-rap, and Dream stumbles in, barely catching before falling into George.   
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dream demands.   
“I thought we’d spent enough time discussing that.”   
“Not _that_ , smartass. I mean, _this_!” Dream gestures wildly at the small, pale man in front of him.   
“What? You don’t like the way I’m running my life now, is that it? Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head, Dream, because you won’t have to watch me run it much longer.”   
If looks could kill. “Stop saying that.”   
“Why? It’s the truth.”   
“Shut up!”   
“No!” George yells, grasping at the most painful straws he can find, desperately fighting to push Dream away, out of his room and out of his short, pitiful life. “It’s my fucking tumour and it’s my fucking funeral!”   
“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!” Dream shouts, palms pressed tightly to his ears, doubled over like he can block the truth in the words from entering.   
“I’m gonna die, Dream! I’m twenty-four fucking years old, and I’m gonna fucking die, and there isn’t a damn thing either of us can do about it!”   
“Stop it,” Dream gasps. “Stop it, stop it.”   
And for a minute, George does. He takes an instant to survey the scene before him, the exhausted, terrified man keeled over in his bedroom. He looks like a child there, curled in on himself, hands clasped over his ears like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. He looks so much smaller than George feels, so much more scared, so much more tired.   
George wraps thinning arms around Dream’s shaking frame, stroking his hair, pressing lips to his temple, whispering gently, like a lullabye, “I’m gonna die, Dream. I’m gonna die.”   
Dream’s trembling hands fall from his ears to George’s waist. “You can’t die. You can’t, you can’t. You can’t leave me here alone. You can’t die and leave me here all alone. It isn’t fair,” he sobs.   
More soft kisses pressed to Dream’s temple, more whispered prophecies, more begging and pleading, and acquiescent pain.   
“You can’t die, George. Please, please don’t die, George.” Dream begs it staring into his eyes, like it was a choice he was making, and maybe it was.   
George presses chapped lips to the shell of Dream’s ear and murmurs, “If it were up to me, Dream? I would never die.”   
“Let’s never die, then,” Dream whispers into George’s tear-soaked T-shirt.   
“Okay, Dream. Let’s never die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sort of time-skip there. We'll almost certainly come back to discuss some of the events that took place in that first month, but for now, I felt it was more important to finish establishing the premise of the story itself and to set the tone. 
> 
> Feel like the breakdown was sort of OOC for Dream but also, he's been carrying this weight on his shoulders for like a month now and George has almost entirely withdrawn, acting like he's already dead, so. Let me know what you guys thought. 
> 
> How do y'all feel about chapter summaries? I don't usually do them but I decided to this time, so let me know if you have a preference one way or the other. 
> 
> Love y'all <3333


	5. thinking, "what for?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream convinces George to live a little before his surgery.

It takes hours to bring Dream down.   
“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, peeling himself away from George’s tear-soaked tee. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you here, not the other way around. You have enough on your plate.”   
“Dream.” George brushes the hair from Dream’s clammy forehead. “You dropped everything to be here with me. You’ve been taking care of me for a month, making sure I eat and go to all my doctor’s appointments—”   
“And what a swell job I’ve done there.”   
George smiles softly and says, “Don’t be harsh on yourself, Dream.”   
“George, look at you. You’re one twenty soaking wet. Your skin is practically grey.”   
“That’s not your fault, Dream. The doctor said that the way the tumour is positioned, we would start to notice these things. Nausea, vomiting, that’s all normal.”   
Dream slinks onto the bed and cradles his head in his hands, blinking back tears, too exhausted to break down again. “Nothing about this is normal, George.”   
George flops down beside him with a heavy sigh. “You’re right.”   
They soak in the silence for a while before George speaks again, resigned.   
“There are so many things I’m never gonna have the chance to do.”   
“Yeah,” Dream says lamely.   
“I’ve never even been outside the country.”   
“Really?”   
“Nope. Not even within the UK.”   
Dream pauses, and George gets that nagging feeling that he’s somehow said the wrong thing.   
"Alright," Dream says, hopping up from the bed.   
George sits up, on edge. "Alright?"   
"Let's go. Pack your shit."   
"Pack my—Dream, we can just _leave_ —"   
Dream laughs, a mirthless thing. "Why not?"  
George fumbles for one of the million logical reasons why he can’t just “pack his shit” and leave. "Because we have to get things in order! I have my surgery in three weeks, and there’s so much to do before then. We have to make a video explaining what's going on and, and I have to see a lawyer and make a will and, and—"   
"George. Stop it. I am not going to let you spend these next few weeks acting like you’re already dead. You’re alive. You’re here. Act like it."   
"Dream,” George sighs. “I can't."   
Dream’s tone leaves no room for argument when he says, "You can. We can. And we will. Pack your shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, this is the last set-up-chapter. Now we're getting to the fun(/evil) stuff :)) 
> 
> Next chapter will be their first day on the road. Thinking they'll start at Hay-On-Wye in Wales because it's such a cute little town. If y'all have any suggestions of places you think they should go, let me know!!! 
> 
> Love y'all <3333


End file.
